Thursday, March 20, 2014

Cover reveal Taint By S.L. Jennings

Right now, you’re
probably asking yourself two things:Who am I?
And, what the hell are you
doing here?

Let’s start with the most obvious question, shall we?

You’re here, ladies, because you can’t f*ck.

Oh, stop it. Don’t cringe. No one under the age of 80 clutches their pearls.
You might as well get used to it, because for the next six weeks, you’re going
to hear that word a lot. And you’re going to say it a lot.
Go ahead, try it out on your tongue.F*ck. F***ck.

Ok, good. Now where were we?

If you enrolled yourself in this program then you are wholly aware that you’re
a lousy lay. Good for you. Admitting it is half the battle.

For those of you that have been sent here by your husband or significant other,
dry your tears and get over it. You’ve been given a gift, ladies. The gift of
mind-blowing, wall-climbing, multiple-orgasm-inducing sex. You have the
opportunity to f*ck like a porn star. And I guarantee, you will when I’m done
with you.

And who am I?

Well, for the next six weeks, I will be your lover, your teacher, your best
friend, and your worst enemy. Your
every-f*cking-thing. I’m the one who is going to save your
relationship and your sex life.

I am Justice Drake.
And I turn housewives into whores.

Now…who’s first?

From TAINT, by
S.L. Jennings:

“Unless he’s completely desperate or
under the influence, a man can’t - and won’t - fuck what doesn’t get him hard.”

Less gasps this time, but every perfectly
powdered face is beet red with embarrassment, causing my mouth to slide into a
sardonic smirk.

Truth be told, I love this shit. I love
ruffling their meticulously groomed feathers. Their obvious discomfort entertains
me. Seeing the rosy hue of coyness bleed through their blush is like a balm to
my little, sadistic soul.

“And in that case,” I continue, “you
don’t want him anyway. What you do want is for him to be salivating at the
soles of your Jimmy Choos. And let’s face it, ladies… that’s not happening. Why
do you think that is?”

Crickets. Fucking crickets.

“Anyone? Come on, ladies. I can’t help
you unless you want to be helped. So unless you all have picture-perfect
marriages and husbands that blow your backs out on a regular, I should see some
hands.”

This time I’m rewarded with the almost
simultaneous intake of eleven breaths. They’re all still here. All willing to
bare their souls and dirty laundry in an attempt to rekindle the doused flame
between their thighs.

You see, women are liars.

Yeah, I said it. L-I-A-R-S.

They want intimacy just as badly as men
do. But to them, intimacy is more than just the physical act of sex. They want
to be cherished yet want a man that will get down and dirty. They want tenderness,
but crave to be banged like a $2 hooker. They want a man that’ll go all night,
but still have the energy to kiss and cuddle and talk about their feelings
afterward.

Listen up, ladies. We’re fucking tired!
You try going jackrabbit-style, throw in some Cirque du Soleil moves and see if
you can keep your eyelids peeled. Us passing out after sex is a compliment- a
testament to how good it was. And quite frankly, if your dude can hop out of
the sack and go to work or run a marathon, then he still has energy left for
sex. He’s just done having sex with you.

Most
known for her starring role in a popular sitcom as a child, S.L. Jennings went
on to earn her law degree from Harvard at the young age of 16. While studying
for the bar exam and recording her debut hit album, she also won the Nobel Prize
for her groundbreaking invention of calorie-free wine. When she isn’t
conquering the seas in her yacht or flying her Gulfstream, she likes to spin
elaborate webs of lies and has even documented a few of these said falsehoods.